George Harrison smut (requests!)

You're at a diner in New York, it's 2am. Oh look, it's George Harrison

This is obnoxiously long! A lot of build up, you're welcome. And I don't have name ideas

1979

The fact that George Harrison, the ex-Beatle, was kicking around my diner at 2am was probably the most thrilling thing that ever happened in my life. He came in from the dark, head down and hands in his pockets, looking incredibly suspicious. He had ordered a cup of coffee and a small breakfast and sat in the corner, avoiding eye contact.

"What do you think he's doing in the states?" Alexandria asks, leaning against the table in the kitchen. There were just three of us working the night shift. Scott, the cook, Alexandria, and I. Neither of them recognized him when he came in, but I did, being the unabashed Beatles fan I was. Once I told them who, they were both fascinated with the man, but we kept our distance.

I shrug, "And out here, in West Hurley at two in the morning? I really don't know what he's up to." I cast a glance out the kitchen door again, watching him write something in a notebook, perm silhouetted by the lights outside.

A few minutes later, the bell on the front counter rang, and I hurriedly exited the kitchen. George stood at the counter, and gave me a small, but warm, smile.

"Hello Mr. Harrison. Ready to go then?" I ask politely, although my heart pounded intensely. This was George fucking Harrison, one of the most influential musicians of all time. And one of the most attractive.

"Ah, so you do know who I am..." he remarks, glancing at his feet, "I'm not quite ready to leave yet, love, I wanted to know if you had any tea."

I blush at his use of the word "love," hoping he didn't see it. "I think all we have is Lipton, but we might only have iced tea at the moment."

"Oh, alright. Well, then I'll just take another coffee." He pauses, like he wants to say more. I turn to the coffee machine and pour another cup, trying not to shake with excitement. He had these beautiful, piercing brown eyes that I kept avoiding because I knew if I looked into them, I'd faint, or something. He had always been my favorite Beatle, and his solo career was excellent. I debated asking for his autograph, but didn't want to cross a line.

"Here you are, Mr. Harrison." I say quietly, handing him the hot mug. He smiles at me and leans across the counter.

"You can just call me George, and your name is...?"

"Penelope." I blush heavily, not expecting him to ask me anything. He grins at this reaction.

"A lovely name for a lovely girl. I once knew a Penelope, beautiful woman." He remarks. I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, she was a hooker. We all just called her Penny anyways. You seem much classier than her, love." He finished this with a sly wink.

I giggle, but cringe at my girlish reaction. Was he flirting with me? "Well, safe to say I'm not a hooker. But with the next paycheck, who knows, I might be?" I joke, cleaning the counter.

Chuckling, he seats himself on one of the barstools. "Well, if you are, could I be your first customer?"

My head shots up at this, making contact with his stark brown eyes, which were looking at me intently. I try to quell my heated face as I pause. "You wouldn't have to pay me to sleep with you."

He smirks at me, leaning closer to my face, reaching out to touch my hair gently. "Oh yeah? I could do you for free?"

My stomach rounded off a few somersaults and I tried not to have any heart palpitations at this interaction. I could only nod to this, and he laughed. "Oh, that will work splendidly."

Suddenly, he leans in and I think he's about to kiss me. I lean in as well but just as our lips brush one another, the door to the diner swings open and two men walk in. George and I spring apart and he puts on his sunglasses again. The men order some food, but by the time they're out of my way, the chemistry has fizzled out.